The man sat quietly, on the edge of the Shield, his feet but a few meters above the water. His broad shoulders and masses of muscle still made him seem a tiny little thing, next to the awesome size of the dike, dwarfing in concrete splendor the whole city it was built to protect from the ever rising seas.

On the horizon, he looked at the Concorde, darting away on the mirror sea. He had asked for the crane to help empty her, but the foreman felt her cargo wasn’t worth the kilowatts. These days, Europe had little food to spare, and what they had, they usually lost to the swarms roaming the Atlantic. But it was winter, and the ship had gotten lucky. They got half a hold out of her, emptied her in a single afternoon, bent under the weight of the GMO crops and the pounding sun.

But Concorde was pretty at least. She grabbed the breeze, pulled away, back into the ocean, by her kites alone. She flew, high above the water, her keel skimming the rooftops of the dead old town. He imagined a man much like him, from a time before the Rise, looking up, squinting through Times Square’s snow, watching her sail through the grey skies.

He wondered then, if that was what a plane had looked like.

"It’s oddly beautiful, isn’t it? So deceptively peaceful..."

He turned, and saw the angel for the first time. The girl had slipped behind him in perfect silence. She was a sight of perfection, a jewel amongst the concrete and rusty pillars of the Shield. She was tall and kept standing. Her white hair flowed free to her shoulders, melting into the brightness of her polymer dress. In the fashion of her kind, it followed her every form with an everchanging tracery of clear fibers, hiding nothing of her shapes and little more of her skin.

He recognized her face. Everyone would.

"You are the Architect." He said.

She was, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes reached afar. Concorde was fading on the horizon, her metal body distorted through the games of still heat. As she stood on the ramparts, her eyes pierced behind the beauty of the sea. She saw the most ferocious of battlefields. Her war against everything, against the heat, against the unrelenting bitch and the sea her weapon.

Even now, she felt the all-powerful force of nature tearing her apart, searing through the laces of the dress, grabbing her throat to seep underneath her skin and strangle her every gland...A valley of sweat ran in between her breasts and another down her spine. It slithered, down the rift of her ass, licking her rim softly. And in between her thighs, the lips of her cunt were a dam ready to burst...

He was but a man and lusted for her more in that second than he had anyone else but the very first. His bloated cock made an obvious show, popping an engorged bubo on his stained overalls. That, of all things, caught her eye. She gave it a passing glance and smiled a content smile.

"Good." She said. Her voice was low and sharp, a dagger whispered. "You’ll need that."

As his eyes ran along her body, her breasts, her neck, and the corner of her eyes, he realized she was ageless. Time had left nothing on her, neither the unfinished touches of youth nor the decrepitude of old age.

Her mind, of course, had always been perfect. But her body was tailored to match it, in some lab underneath the last of the eternal snows. Did they even think to ask, when they shackled her to the operating table? They penetrated her marrow, the very recipe of who she was, with stainless, greedy needles…They shredded through her DNA to sculpt her into the effigy that was needed. Not an odd shape nor a carved flaw left in her figure of marble.

For she was the Architect, the one chosen to stand for mankind against the vengeful Earth. She stood, at the very front of the greatest war that ever was, protecting a not-so-clever bunch of monkeys against the just wrath of their whole fucking planet. The ceasefire of winter would not last, they both knew. Soon spring would come, and the old bitch would summon winds and water into hurricanes, mustering everything she could to tear her down and ravage them all...

One and half billion drowned. More than ten billion still stood, still breathed, still bred.

But her Shield was so flimsy, and her cunt gushing. Fighting against her own home, she was herself a fucking flood and wanted more.

The hubris of it all.

"Show me where you live." She asked.

---

He led her hurriedly on the small path atop the Shield. He struggled, his every step made awkward by his fat cock grinding against the rough synthetic thread of his overalls. She walked behind him with a perfect dancing gait, and a cool softness that lied about everything she felt.

Underneath the white dress and the Denver education, there was nothing but the unrelenting, moist grasp of the bitch onto her every cell. Her nipples ached, pressed against the lacey bars of their plastic prison. A single drop of her wet had dripped all the way down to her knee...

She admired the man, for trying to keep up appearances. He opened the rusty door of the elevator with a kind of reverence that she decided she had to destroy. Respect would not do.

In the rattling cage that brought them down the Shield’s slope, she turned away to look at the sprawling city underneath. A colony of ant-monkeys, well under the rising waters. Fighting, rushing, running, fucking each other through the narrow pores of the slums…

She had lost one a half billion of them lost to the bitch’s bad moods.

Ten billion were left, food for the flood. Her flock to keep.

And she didn’t care. She drowned her mind in the grinding of her ass against the bulge of the man’s companion’s dirty overalls. The caresses of her sweat were not enough, not anymore, so she pressed on his cock. Polymer resisted her, so she pressed harder still. The white fabric stretched over the shape of his huge cock until the flimsy thing tore on it. The rough fabric of the overalls drank the moisture of her ass. She let it rest there, rubbing her rim, a promise that soon more would come.

It drew from her a gentle sigh.

The elevator deposed them far from the beating heart of the slums. The monkeys feared her Shield. In its shadow they felt too close of the ever encroaching sea, so they settled far. But that would not save them if ever she failed. The wave would be as tall as the buildings before the Rise, the old town under the sea. No one would even get a chance to cry. She saw it every night in her sweetest dreams.

She followed the cock she craved through a lace of rusty steel roofs and smelly food, cooked wherever. They hurried past walls of fortune, and windows of tattered sheet plastic. She had been bred in a place much like this one, a lifetime ago. At first, she hid her prowesses well. Words and ideas were only a recipe for despair, so instead, she willingly dived into the mindless joys of impending doom. It silenced the endless stir inside her brain, to make herself squirt for every boy who just thought they’d ask, and to give blowjobs at that gloryhole in the fence behind the Toro Riendo.

But Denver still found her. They said she was special, and of course, she was. They made sure she was perfect, shaped her mind and body into the Architect’s. Greedy needles in her marrow. She could’ve have been happy a quiet whore; they made her a soldier instead. She was to fight for dumb monkeys against their bitch of a planet.

Standing alone against the heat, and the sea her weapon, she found new ways for them to thrive. She built the Shields, while maids made her dresses, from nothing but flimsy stuff. And for every second of struggle, she wished to still be that pretty young girl, with her naked knees in the dirt and Isabella’s hand in her hair, forcing her down to choke on cock after cock. Her mind irrelevant, her body the slums’, drowning in the cum spilt by the gallon deepest in her throat, she’d have been happy... Mindless, behind the Toro Riendo.

---

His place was inordinately well kept. The plasterboard walls had been adjusted with a genuine kind of care; there was a glass window unshattered, even a solar panel somewhere, feeding a handful of watts to a water filter.

Of course, he was rich, she thought, he was a docker. A strong man and not stupid. Enough to make him a King, who had to settle the scores of the stupid teens who fought and sucked the wrong cock on his turf. A good man too, he prefered respect to strength.

The fool tried to be polite, pulling a precious and colorful carpet over the dirt floor, offering her a seat and pleasantries. She put a stop to it, her knee grinding against his crotch, feeling the promise of his protruding girth.

"You know why I’m here." She whispered in his ear. "Nevermind who I am."

She emphasized her words with a kiss. Nothing sweet, or even passionate. It was a kiss full of rage and despair. A kiss of mouth wide open, her tongue diving past his lips into his depth. A kiss so furious their teeth ripped against each other in the moment before he answered. He caught her tongue and rubbed it hard, his hand venturing in her flowing white hair, holding her firmly.

She moaned into his mouth, as her body fell on his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples on fire in the prison of her dress. Her knee flowed down from his crotch as her legs fell down on each side of his wide thighs. Slutty and uncaring, she started to rub herself against his overalls.

"Use me, like a machine, for all I’m worth" she pleaded in fever. "I command it."

He hesitated, one second more. He was a decent man, a kind king for his miserable neighbourhood. He had never asked for the cunt he was owed, though many a bride secretly wished that he would, as they sucked off their groom’s dick to put them to sleep. And she was the Architect, an angel, a jewel, a soldier. A spring of beauty and wisdom. Denver’s gift to monkeykind.

His hand slapped hard on her bottom. She was gloriously cute, for a single second, an expression of delighted surprise painting her horny little face. Then his gentle hand closed to a fist in her ethereal hair, and she was nothing but an eager and elated kind of slut.

Brutally, methodically, he ripped apart her odious polymer dress, grabbing heap after heap of the synthesized fabric. For every patch he tore off, the lacey thing tried to ensnare what was left, closing on itself to protect its angel from the depravity she wanted. One of her perfectly plump breasts popped out, then the other. But still, her prison closed on her belly like a deformed corset, pressing even more on her aroused breath.

He pulled her body against him, his fingers running her spine like a scythe to rip what was left of her shackles and dignity. The polymer rags fell to her feet and, finally, she was defenseless. Free. He felt her teeth closing on his neck and pulled harshly on her soft white hair, ripping her away as he would have a bloodbug. Her body bent for him to show that she was still perfect, covered in sweat, her tongue hanging from her lips and rubbing herself on his knee, leaving an ever wider smear of her juices on his pants.

The angel of billions and a bitch in heat. A jewel.

He stood up suddenly, sending her on her ass, her legs folding underneath. As he lowered his overalls to show her what she came for, her horny pout morphed into gleeful terror. There was a difference between the statistical outlier she imagined from Denver’s genetic databanks, and the reality of the monster she had chosen to be her fate. His cock was as her mind. A gross, bloated abnormality, as hard as it was huge, bending under its own weight.

The Architect looked at it, fascinated. As she got on all fours and crawled to him, her mind ran every simulation. Physics, shape, size, impact, shear and tensile strengths. She saw her flesh burst open, her every hole pierced, every wall inside her pushing back vainly against the unmatched force of his nature. She saw the dam of her cunt’s lips give way, felled into a gaping flood of her wet and his cum. She saw her body and her mind consumed, quiet at last.

She climbed along his knees, with boundless curiosity. As the monster grew too large to conceive, she closed her eyes and measured him some more, her tongue slowly running the impossible length and width of his sex. She even caught herself loving its taste, when only his power mattered. For a fire branded her soul, the maddening desire to consume and be consumed. To stop at nothing, whatever the cost and consequences, to indulge in her lust.

She opened her eyes, defiant, but said not a word, instead opening her mouth wide to get herself fucked. She felt his hand close in her hair again. She would have smiled if she could, for she missed Isabella, but his sheer mass locked her jaw open too wide. Dutifully, with both hands behind her head, he bossman drilled his way ever deeper down her throat. She coughed in vain, her body thinking him a gross invader, choked on his member and her own spit. Through the tears in her eyes, saw happiness at last and welcomed abandon.

To the King’s credit, it should be known that he consumed her skillfully. That night, nothing of her flesh was left alone that could instead have been used with appropriate, industrial brutality. After he flooded her throat with spit and cum, he watched her swallow it all with greedy haste. She prayed for more in gargles and coughs.

Hence, ever a gentleman, he kept working. Kept consuming. He raised her high like a doll, to impale her on himself. He watched her slowly fall, deeper and deeper on that cock no one could take. She came for the first time, not even halfway down, her insides filled so thoroughly that she squirted both their juices, all over his chest. She looked at every drop with such fiery greed…

He kept pounding while she licked it all, giggling and cumming.

Her belly filled to the brim, she tried to stand, but her legs gave up. She fell back, her whole body rubbing against the hard carpet. Yet, the greedy little slut still whispered a song and asked for more. She got angry and mean, when her offered rim refused to yield easy. No challenge could remain unanswered, no amount of her lust kept intact. She bent herself and bit him, pushed and bitched for more, until a solution was found. In truth it was always simple, she’d be fucked until she broke.

With his fingers, he dug through her flooded throat and cunt. Lubricating her asshole with the fruit of their spent debauchery, he opened the last way he needed. Holding her down against the carpet, his palm ungentle on her cheek, he bent her bottom up in the air and hammered his shaft down against her hole. Indifferent to her thrashing and screaming, hearing only her pleas to be exploited more, he fracked his way down her ass to find every last resource of her lust. In the last bastion of her lost purity, he pumped more and more of his seed, extracting each time he pumped deeper one more quaking orgasm out of her fractured nerves.

Finally, as his hips crashed against her bottom, she felt her body at peace, mined as empty of lust as her mind was of thoughts and duty. Leaking and shivering, she crawled into his arms, her every hole forever left gaping. Himself at peace, sated, for now, he welcomed her into a dreamless night.

---

When morning came, he watched her, crawling on all fours to collect the rags of her dress from the carpet. She brought them together, and the memory shape fabric started to melt itself back into its purpose. The strange craft flowed up her body, rebuilding in seconds the lacey prison of her perfection. From the bent posture of the slut, sparing her freshly abused asshole, her perfect body straightened back into the posture of the Architect. Above his miserable shack, a silvery airship waited for her in silence, shining in the everstill heat of winter.

"What are you going to do ?" He asked.

"The Pacific." She answered.

"Oh, the big Project." He replied with a pathetic hint of vanity. In taking her, he thought he played his part, fucking her into saving them all. "Is it going to work ?"

"Of course it’s going to work, I designed it." She said with a giggle, the last gasp of a happy slut drowning in polymers and duty. As the Architect she added: "But it won’t be enough. It will never be enough."

One and a half billion she lost. Ten more still stood.